


Defining Moments

by ChillieBean



Series: Fixed Point in Time [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humour, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Innuendo, Mild Language, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Referenced Suicidal Ideation, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slice of Life, mild anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Defining moments shape our lives. They might seem insignificant at the time, but they are shining beacons that light the path of one's journey in life.31 lives, 31 moments.





	1. "It will be fun, trust me."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!
> 
> This is my Fictober19 fic, a series of vignettes chronicling the lives of the Overwatch cast, including playable characters and the supporting cast. My aim is to keep them short this time round, ~500 words, written then posted just like last time. We'll see if my editing game has improved in the last year XD
> 
> This is set in the same universe as Snapshots, but none of the stories will continue from that fic, so don't feel like you have to read it. 
> 
> Tags and characters will be added with each new fic. The rating should remain T+, only going as high as M if required. Prompt and characters will be posted in the notes of each chapter. 
> 
> One prompt will be posted every day, all throughout October. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Contents:  
1\. “It will be fun, trust me.” Gérard and Amélie   
2\. “Just follow me, I know the area.” Bob and Ashe  
3\. “Now? Now you listen to me?” Jack and Gabe  
4\. “I know you didn’t ask for this.” Widowmaker and Moira  
5\. “I might just kiss you.” Torbjörn and Reinhardt  
6\. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” Doomfist and Reaper  
7\. “No, and that’s final.” Zarya  
8\. “Can you stay?” Mei and Angela  
9\. “There is a certain taste to it.” Junkrat, Roadhog and Wrecking Ball  
10\. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.” Ashe and Jesse  
11\. “It’s not always like this.” Gabe and Jack  
12\. “What if I don’t see it?” Echo and Winston  
13\. “I never knew it could be this way.” Satya  
14\. “I can’t come back.” Jesse and Fio  
15\. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Lúcio   
16\. “Listen. No, really listen.” Zenyatta and Genji  
17\. “There is just something about them.” Angela and Genji (ft. cameos from Jack, Gabe & Jesse)  
18\. “Secrets? I love secrets.” Sombra and Baptiste  
19\. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Brigitte and Reinhardt  
20\. “You could talk about it, you know?” Maximilien and Luna  
21\. “Change is annoyingly difficult.” Moira and Gabe  
22\. “We could have a chance.” Bastion and Winston  
23\. “You can’t give more than yourself.” Hana, Yuna and Dae-hyun  
24\. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.” Baptiste and Mauga  
25\. “I could really eat something.” Lena and Emily  
26\. “You keep me warm.” Orisa and Efi  
27\. “Can you wait for me?” Jack and Vincent  
28\. “Enough! I heard enough.” Hanzo  
29\. “I’m doing this for you.” Ana  
30\. “I’m with you, you know that.” Fareeha, Jesse and Sam  
31\. “Scared, me?” Sigma and Harold Winston (ft. cameo from Subject 28)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gérard and Amélie.

White Christmases are Gérard’s favourite. The last few years spent with Amélie has seen him go wherever she is currently touring. Last year it was Uruguay. The year before, Sydney. This year, though, she is in New York, and Gérard could not be happier. 

They walk hand in hand through Rockefeller Plaza. Time spent with Amélie these days are few and far between since being stationed in Rome. She visits between tours, stays with him for mere weeks before starting her schedule again where they spend months apart. 

She is happy though, living her best life even with all of the travel and fame, and that’s all that matters.

Gérard sighs wistfully, looking at his beloved. The streetlamps cast her in an ethereal glow, her breaths form a cloud and disappear on the light breeze. She smiles, her eyes light up, and Gérard follows her gaze to the Christmas tree, the coloured lights twinkle like stars in the night sky. 

“I hear the ice skating here is magical,” Amélie says, looking at Gérard. “We should not miss this opportunity.”

“I do not skate.” Gérard lifts Amélie’s hand to his mouth, kissing it. “I fall.”

“You are better than you believe.” Amélie smiles, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. “It will be fun, trust me.”

Gérard takes a breath and holds it. He can never say no to his love. “I do, with all my heart,” he murmurs, cupping her face and kissing her softly. 

Given the time of night, it is a short queue for tickets, and they are on the ice in a manner of minutes. Despite knowing that Amélie wants nothing more than to skate around unencumbered, she doesn’t leave his side, holding his hand as she helps him onto the ice. It takes all of his willpower to keep his legs as vertical as possible, as stiff as possible, to keep from falling.

“Relax,” Amélie says, smiling softly. She looks him up and down. “_ That _ is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I will fall.”

“Bend your knees,” she instructs, tapping her knee. “Like this.”

Taking a breath, Gérard relaxes a little. Much to his surprise, he doesn’t slip or lose his balance. 

“See, easy. Now copy me.” Amélie leans forward slightly, and Gérard mirrors it. Then she takes a step, he follows until he is walking in step with her. “Now glide.”

He doesn’t move very far, but he _ does _ move, which is an improvement on last time. “Amé, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“Now we are going to try stroking. It is exactly what you are doing now, just with longer movements, enough to lift one foot off the ice.”

With a grin and watching Amélie’s feet, he lifts his leg, gliding on one foot. He moves in time with her, skating at a reasonable pace. 

Confidence soaring, he takes his eyes off his feet, glancing at Amélie. She has the biggest beaming grin on her face, and he knows, in this moment, that she is the woman he will be spending the rest of his life with. 

Gérard slows, it catches Amélie's attention, and she turns to face him. He takes her hands and kisses her knuckles. "I love you."

She smiles. "I love you too."


	2. "Just follow me, I know the area."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and Ashe

Bob worries for Elizabeth.

He would never tell her parents, only because he doubts that they would do anything to rectify the situation. That is why he is employed under them, after all; to fill that gap. 

He has seen it too many times in his life. Rich people who want to have a child, who believe that child will seamlessly insert themselves into their busy lives without so much of a lost night of sleep. 

Every day, the line between disciplining Ashe for her unsavoury behaviour and letting it slide just so her parents can pick up the slack blurs a little more. It isn’t his job to _ parent _ her. But he tries because he wants the best for her. 

She is acting out, though. Yesterday she pushed a child off the swing at the school’s playground. Today she spoke back to a teacher, earning her a visit to the principal's office. Her parents haven’t said _ two words _ to her about it because they are away on business _ again_. 

He doesn’t have the heart to tell Elizabeth that their trip has been extended another three days _ by their own choosing _ and that they will miss her birthday next week. Bob hates using the word neglectful, but the Ashe’s are coming _ very _ close. 

Elizabeth is at a stage in her life where she is well aware of the world around her. She deserves so much more than material possessions to soothe the sting of their selfishness.

So, in the meantime, her is her carer, her parent, and her best friend. 

“Come on, Bob, why are you walkin’ so slow!”

Bob bends under another branch, then shimmies between two trees. He stands up straight in this small clearing, gesticulating to himself.

Hands on her hips, Elizabeth looks him up and down. “Yeah, okay. But try to keep up. It gets thicker from here.”

Bob glances behind him at the forest they have already traversed. _ How _ can it get _ thicker _ from here? He turns back around, and Elizabeth is gone. He looks left then right, listens out for the crunching of footsteps on dead foliage but can’t hear anything— 

“Bob! I said keep up!”

He turns around, Elizabeth is looking up at him, arms crossed and frowning. Her dress is stained with dirt, her hair is poking out every which way and has leaves in it. Always the adventurer. 

_ We should head back_, he signs. _ It will get dark soon. _

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “We’re nearly there.” Then she holds out her hand, smiling sweetly. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

He knows that he should be firm, but she needs the opportunity to just be a child. With a nod, he takes her hand, precariously following her as the ground starts to slope downwards. By the time they reach the lake it’s dusk, fireflies dance on the water’s surface. 

Bob sits on the water’s edge, crossing his legs. Elizabeth rests in his lap and sighs, much too heavily for an eight-year-old.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Elizabeth says quietly. “I know mom and dad would have said no. Some days, I feel like you’re the only family I’ve got.”

The fragility in her voice is heartbreaking. He holds her tighter and kisses the top of her head. 

When the Ashe’s get back from their business trip, Bob will tell them _ exactly _ what he thinks about their _ parenting_. They need to be present in their daughter’s life, now, more than ever.

They need to know that her heart is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my Bob headcanons where one, he's actually really old, two, his method of communication is Sign Language, and three, he has an emotion chip which was put in later in life but still refuses to get a voice chip installed.
> 
> Also I gave myself a sad with this one. Sorry if you too caught the sad.


	3. "Now? Now you listen to me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Gabe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops my fingers slipped and now we have implied R76.
> 
> which. i know i said you wouldn't need to read Snapshots but they were a *thing* in that.

They are pinned behind a broken, crumbled wall. Bullets whizz above them.

“We need to flank left.” 

Jack groans, exasperated. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

They had argued whether to go left or right. Gabe wanted to go right, using the destroyed cars and broken walls to their advantage because it was a shorter distance to get to the bunker where the assailants are. Jack had told him it was a trap and that they should go left, take the long way around using the cover of the trees to get to them.

But no. Gabe was set in his decision, and Jack gave in because if he didn’t follow Gabe, he would be here, trapped on his own. 

Gabe peeks over the wall when the gunfire stops, and immediately they return fire. “I hate to say it, but I think we’re stuck.”

“You don’t say,” Jack retorts. He shimmies to the edge of the wall, peeking over the side and sees the bodies of his team, covered in red. “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this.”

“We gotta try, Johnny Boy,” Gabe says, grinning.

Jack cringes. “I hate that. Don’t say it again.”

Clutching his gun close to his chest, Gabe winks. “No can do.” With a roar, a battle cry, Gabe leaps over the wall, firing at the assailants.

“You idiot,” Jack growls, poking over the wall and laying covering fire. It’s all in vain, Gabe gets hit, again and again and again. He drops to his knees, cops more bullets before falling onto his back.

It’s probably the worst decision of his life, but Jack leaps the wall, commando crawling to Gabe. He is dotted in red, he looks at Jack with watery eyes. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Gabe rasps.

“Someone’s gotta look after your ass since you’re _ clearly _ doing an _ amazing _ job.”

“It’s too late,” Gabe says, coughing. He holds out his hand and Jack takes it. “Tell that Morrison dickhead to get that stick out of his ass…” he looks at the sky, still, lifeless.

Rolling his eyes, Jack stands, firing at the bunker in vain. The first bullet hits him, square in the chest. The second, his shoulder. But it’s the one that gets him right on the ass that has him yelping and dropping to his knees. 

He looks behind him, seeing Ana in the distance. She waves at him, then the alarm sounds, the lights illuminate the training range. 

“Ouch,” Jack says, looking over his shoulder. He has a bright blue paint splotch over his left thigh and buttock.

Gabe sits up, looking at the red paint on himself, dabbing a spot with a finger. “We didn’t make it.”

“No, we _ didn’t_." He stands, offering his hand to Gabe and helping him up. "Also, ‘that Morrison dickhead’? How old are you, thirteen?”

“It’s the truth,” Gabe says with a playful shrug. “Gotta make my dying words mean something, after all.”

“Well when it happens, make it more meaningful than _ that_.”

“_I__f_.” Gabe peeks over Jack’s shoulder and barks a laugh. “Nice shot, Amari!” Then he slaps Jack, right on the spot. It aches, and he knows he's going to have a nasty bruise there tonight. “Come on, Johnny Boy. I think it’s time we removed that _ stick_.”

Jack grumbles. “Next time I’m leaving you to die.”


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker and Moira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now to add a hearty dollop of angst...
> 
> Warning for canonical character death and psychological trauma. If there's anything else you want tagged, please let me know.

“How are you feeling, Lacroix?”

Nails scratch at the wall in her mind, bloodied. She sees the woman, pale skin, black hair a mess, wedding dress in tatters. Her makeup runs down her face, washed by her tears. She cowers in the corner, afraid, alone.

“I don’t feel.”

“No remorse?”

The woman looks at her then, awakened. She screams, long and loud, the room shakes. 

Amélie—no,  _ Widowmaker _ —sees the man, now. The love in his eyes, on his lips, pressed softly to her skin. Then nothing, when she pulled the pillow away to look at his contorted face, perpetually stuck trying to suck in an impossible breath, to make sure the job was done.

Amélie is dead. Locked away in her mind. She is the Widowmaker, now. That is what she has become. 

“No remorse.”

“Excellent.” Dr. O’Deorain shines a light into her eyes. Perhaps if she looks hard enough, she will see Amélie, scratching at the wall, begging for release.

If she gets close enough, Dr. O’Deorain might hear her.

_ You murderer! _

“It appears if the procedure was a success.” Dr. O’Deorain smiles, a sadistic, twisted thing. “I must say, this is possibly my greatest accomplishment yet.”

Widowmaker looks down at her hands, at her skin with its bluish tinge. Amélie is dead, and this is proof. She is a weapon now, a  _ thing _ to be ordered and used, discarded when she is no longer required.

_ I will never forgive you. _

She balls her hands into fists, looking at the wall in front of her. Her ears ring from Amélie’s screams but she ignores it. She doesn’t feel.

Something squeezes her shoulder and she recoils. Widowmaker settles on Dr. O’Deorain, and it would be so easy to grab her jaw and snap her neck like a twig. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” Dr. O’Deorain says, “but we are pleased with the outcome of your first mission. We couldn’t have asked more from you.”

“But you will,” Widowmaker replies, staring into her eyes. “More death. More carnage.”

Dr. O’Deorain hums, looking at her holopad and tapping at it. She walks off, heading to a cabinet and grabbing the blue vial. Widowmaker recognises it for what it is and lies back on the bed.

“I need to sedate you,” Dr. O’Deorain says. “I must run more tests.”

Widowmaker stares at the ceiling, unblinking. She doesn’t feel the coolness from the alcohol swab, nor the needle as it breaks her skin. 

She doesn’t feel.

As she drifts into unconsciousness, all she sees is Amélie, standing up, defiant.

_ You’re stuck with me, now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have plans to revisit this in a fic sometime soon. This has been rattling around in my mind for months and I really want to explore this further.
> 
> EDIT: It finally got the update!! You can [read it here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747062/chapters/66447326)


	5. “I might just kiss you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torbjorn and Reinhardt

They are fucked, if Torbjörn is putting it simply.

He shouldn’t even be on this mission. Deep reconnaissance? Heavily undercover? He’s an engineer, for goodness sake, not a field operative.

And on top of that, the _ wonderful _ powers that be decided to put that large, irritating German man on this _ clandestine _ mission in New Delhi. 

Torbjörn’s not saying that Reinhardt is the reason why they’re stuck on this hypertrain that’s out of their control, headed straight for Pakistan where Overwatch has no jurisdiction to operate, but there were whispers that the branch of Vishkar they were investigating for corruption were suspicious of his _ boisterous _ nature. They put a tail on the seven-foot German, leading Vishkar right to the doorstep of their stakeout location, which in turn resulted in their sudden and desperate escape on this hypertrain that Vishkar now has full control over. 

This entire mission was a recipe for disaster, and Torbjörn will be having words with Jack Morrison for this debacle the moment they are back on Grand Mesa soil.

_ If _ they make it back, that is.

Torbjörn stands in front of the engine room doors, trying to gain access to through the control panel. Hacking the interface has been of no use, the encryption impossible to crack even with Athena. 

Vishkar must have someone on the other side who is fighting them for control, and annoyingly, they are winning.

“We will cross the border in fifteen minutes,” Reinhardt says. He towers over Torbjörn, even kneeling beside him. “How is it going.”

“It isn’t,” Torbjörn retorts. “I can’t get in. Nothing works.”

“I know you are the master engineer, but…” and here it comes, one of Reinhardt’s _ ingenious _ideas. “Have you tried to overload the system.”

Torbjörn tsks. “I can’t get _ in _ to overload the system.”

Reinhardt chuckles, rumbling deep in his chest. “Why didn’t you ask?” He rolls up his sleeves and stands, pressing his weight onto the doors. 

“If I thought that was going to work, I _ would _ have. Not even an _ omnic _ could get through that!”

“Good thing I’m not an omnic then,” Reinhardt says cockily. He knocks on the door and waits, almost like he expects someone to actually answer.

Torbjörn rolls his eyes. “If you open that door,” he pauses as Reinhardt taps at the console beside it. “I might just kiss you.”

It’s done before Torbjörn can even process it. Reinhardt hits the console with enough force to punch a hole through the wall, and the door opens ajar. Reinhardt looks over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, and Torbjörn rushes inside. He approaches the console for engine control, placing his scanner on top. Athena transfers the virus, and in under a minute, the brakes engage and the train slows to a stop. 

“I can’t believe that—” Torbjörn’s words die in his throat as he is spun around, face to face with Reinhardt who _ pecks him on the lips. _

Reinhardt pulls away and winks. “I think I’m irresistible, too.”

Torbjörn sits there, stunned, as Reinhardt answers a call on his phone. He wipes his lips with his hand, and he is sure there is no amount of soap that can wash _ that _ off. 

But despite it, he can say he has a newfound respect for Reinhardt. 


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doomfist and Reaper

“Ogundimu, your lawyer is here.”

Akande opens his eyes, settling on the guard standing in the doorway of his cell. He nods as he stands, placing his hands behind his back. He isn’t cuffed, though—he has been here long enough, gained their respect through compliance that they now let him walk around unrestrained.

Wordlessly, he leads the way to the visitation room, sitting opposite his_ lawyer_, watching as the guard leaves them be. His eyes snap to the camera in the corner, the constant shining red light flickers before returning to solid again. 

He settles on Gabriel as his phone vibrates on the table. It has been so long since Akande has seen him without the mask that it's a little jarring, remembering that there is, for the most part, a flesh and blood person under there. His new treatments seem to be working—his condition appears stable.

"We're clear," Gabriel says, clasping his hands on the table.

"Update."

"The rumours of Overwatch's recall are true. Several of our sources have been asked to join the fight against us."

Akande hums, rubbing his chin. It was only a matter of time, he knew the monkey was the weakest link and that he would cave sooner than later. How pitifully predictable. “Now we move to the next stage of the plan.”

“We are still working on that—”

“We must act _now_. You _ knew _ this, that is why you were _allowed_ to move forward with the plan to storm Gibraltar in the first place.”

Gabriel takes a breath, an apparent attempt to keep the Reaper at bay as his eyes shimmer red. “We’re not ready. Sombra might be able to hack into the cameras but that’s child’s play compared to taking control of the entire computer system. You know we can’t just storm the prison, it’s too heavily fortified, even _ with _the help of the handful of Helix on Talon’s payroll.”

Now that Gabriel is done with his _ excuses_, Akande levels him with a hard stare. Gabriel doesn’t look away, though, meeting his staredown. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“I—” Gabriel’s eye twitches and he takes another breath. He is always quick to challenge authority, something he was _allowed_ to get away with in Overwatch. It seems he is still struggling to learn his place. “What would you like us to do?”

“Are you still able to go undetected by bioscanners in your wraith form?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the key, Gabriel," Akande says, smirking. "You pilot the shuttle alone, they will think it’s unmanned. Land on the roof, do your thing, create a distraction, pull all of the guards away so I can get out of here by myself.”

“And what of the lockdown?”

Akande raises his prosthetic arm, balling his hand into a fist. “Steel and concrete is no match for brute strength.”

Gabriel’s eyes flit to his fist. “And when do you want to stage this _ elaborate _escape?”

“One week from today. No need to radio ahead.” Akande grins. “I’ll be ready.”


	7. "No, and that's final."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarya and her father

‘Devastating’ is the word Zarya would use to describe what she is seeing. 

_ Breaking News _ in bold lettering sits at the bottom of the holovid. Aerial footage shows the once dormant Siberian omnium is again active. It switches to images of what remains of a local town, the closest to the omnium and neighbouring her hometown, in flames and levelled. Hundreds dead, scores missing. 

Her heart sinks when the footage shows residents from her hometown boarding up windows of homes and shops. Most are choosing to stay, refusing to be displaced by the threat of the omnics. Military personnel march down the street, setting up defences on the border.

Anger sits heavily in the pit of her stomach. They were promised that the omnium was shut down for good, that even if it  _ was _ activated again, there would be ample warning to get everyone to safety. The fact that an attack happened without anyone’s knowledge  _ must  _ mean that it is no longer monitored. 

She picks up her phone, checking for messages from her family, and there is nothing new. She spoke to her mother two hours ago,  _ after _ this footage was taken, and she didn’t say  _ anything  _ about it.

Guilt takes anger’s place now as she looks around her high-end hotel room. She should be at home, on the frontlines protecting her town, her country, as she promised herself all those years ago. Instead, she is on the other side of the ocean, trying to prove that she is the strongest woman in the world. She doesn’t  _ need _ proof, she  _ knows  _ she is.

She should be at home. 

The decision in her mind is crystal clear. There isn’t a single shred of hesitation or remorse. 

Switching off the display, she stands, leaving her room and knocking on the neighbouring room’s door. Her father answers, looking pale and grim.

He stands aside, letting her in. “You saw the news.”

“I did,” she replies. “I want to withdraw from the competition and protect our home.”

“That is not a surprise,” her father says. He grabs her hand tenderly. “But Aleksandra, the competition is tomorrow. One more day and then we can go home.”

“The competition, yes, but after that is  _ weeks _ of press tours. You know this, father.”

Her father inhales and exhales deeply, sitting on the couch. “I do,” he breathes. “It is not a surprise, honestly. The moment I saw that report I knew you would want to drop everything.” He looks up at her, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know I’ll support your decision, but I can’t talk you out of it?”

“It’s what I want to do,” she answers defiantly.

“I just worry for you,” he murmurs, patting the spot next to him. She sits down, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Being on the front lines is dangerous.”

“I can handle it, papa,” she says. “It is what I have been training for my entire life.”

Her father smiles softly, picking up his phone from the coffee table. “Last chance to stay before I book flights home.”

Zarya sits up straight and folds her arms across her chest. No hesitation, no remorse. “No, and that’s final.”


	8. "Can you stay?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mei and Angela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mild anxiety attack, emotional hurt/comfort

The wind howls, unrelenting. The little window to the outside world is covered with snow. 

Teeth grinding, Mei looks at the radar on her display—the storm front is showing no signs of stopping. She tries to focus on the science behind it, the barometric pressure, the climbing snowfall amount, the wind speed, but all she can see in her mind is that_ tomb _in Antarctica, hear the voices of her lost comrades in her mind. 

It’s been _ years _ since that long, isolating week. This isn’t her first blizzard since then, far from it, she’s even visited McMurdo Station in Antarctica and has been fine with it. She’s not sure why today is affecting her; she has accepted that she survived, acknowledged and worked her way through the guilt and depression and even the apparent recklessness in missions past. 

Today was a good day, spent with friends locked inside because of this storm. They played games and laughed, keeping watch on their target through thermal imaging. But the conversation has since died as everyone is now asleep, and the only noise she can hear is the damned wind.

She longs, _ craves _ for any form of human interaction right now, but it would be too much of a burden to wake anyone up. Besides, making her way out of the Ecopoint and walking kilometres through the Antarctic was significantly more difficult than _ this_.

But with each passing moment, she finds her breathing growing shallower. The more she tries to control it, to take in more air, the harder it is. She’s not alone, she tells herself, that there are people—her teammates, her _ friends_—on the other side of that wall, alive, breathing. 

Despite it, though, she feels tears roll down her cheeks— 

“Burning the midnight oil?”

Mei startles, she frantically wipes her eyes and face. “Yeah,” she says as casually as she can manage, but the croak in her voice betrays her. She glances over her shoulder at Angela before turning back around. “The data we’re getting from this storm is immense. I can’t help myself.”

“Found anything interesting yet?”

Mei looks at the raw data, and right now it's meaningless numbers. “Nothing yet, but by the sounds of it, it wouldn't be a surprise if it's one of the strongest recorded yet.”

Angela hums. “A worrying trend.” 

Mei nods as she listens to Angela busy herself in the kitchen. A cupboard door closes, the tap is turned on, and after a moment closed. She chews on her lip, hoping Angela stays a little longer. 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Um…” Mei looks over her shoulder again, wiping her nose with her finger. It’s now or never, and despite Angela being in the room for a minute, she can feel just how calm she is compared to earlier. “Can you stay?”

Angela smiles warmly, sitting beside her. “Of course. I have to admit, the creaking roof is too loud for me to doze off.” She pulls Jesse’s serape from the back of the couch, gives it a quick smell before placing it over her lap. “It’s not the greatest of blankets, but it is warm,” she says, lifting the end. 

Taking a deep breath, Mei slides in a little closer and Angela drapes it over her lap. Just feeling Angela next to her, hearing each breath she takes, smelling her shampoo, it is enough of a reminder that she isn’t alone. 

And suddenly, the world feels so much brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the small handful set in Overwatch's future.


	9. "There is a certain taste to it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat, Roadhog and Wrecking Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come from a land down under...

“Oi! Wrecking Ball! Mate! C’mere!”

Junkrat watches as the large mech clobbers back towards Roadhog’s bar. He’s been wanting to chat with the champion of the scrapyard for a while now as both he and Roadhog have their suspicions about Wrecking Ball. He thinks they’re actually an omnic while Roadhog reckons there’s someone on the inside. Wrecking Ball is suspiciously private, always keeps to themselves, and are only out and about when going to and from a match. 

In a place where omnics aren't welcome, he'd hide, too. 

“Yes?” the mech says in its deep  _ omnic  _ voice. 

“Come in, come in,” Junkrat says, waving him inside. “We’re watching the contenders duke it out on the telly. Wanna join us?”

“There are many things—”

“Aww, come on,” Junkrat says, patting the seat next to him. “We just wanna chat with the champion. Ten minutes?”

There is a moment of stillness before the mech steps through the doorway. Junkrat waggles his eyebrows at Roadhog standing behind the bar. 

“Want a drink?” Roadhog asks.

“No, thank you.”

Junkrat glances at Roadhog. One step closer to a cool fifty credits. “How about something to eat?” Junkrat slides the plate of crackers across the bar, then the jar of vegemite. “Have a nibble.”

Wrecking Ball steps closer, peering at the offerings. “What is this?” they ask, pointing to the jar.

Humming critically, Junkrat rests on his elbow against the bar. That’s another tick for an omnic in his books. “You’re telling me you’ve gone this long in life and you’ve never  _ seen _ vegemite?”

“It is not something easily attainable.”

“They have a point,” Roadhog says. “Mine is made in house. When was the last time you saw a commercial jar?”

“That’s  _ not  _ my point,” Junkrat retorts. “It’s an Australian staple, a classic. Parents give it to their kids before their first birthday.  _ Everyone _ knows what it is, even if they’ve never  _ seen _ a jar.”

“There are always exceptions to rules,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat rolls his eyes. “Here,” he says, dipping a cracker into the vegemite. Given Wrecking Ball has never seen it, he goes light so it doesn’t turn them off. “Try some.”

“There is a certain taste to it,” Roadhog warns.

Junkrat holds out the cracker. “A  deliciously _ irresistible_ saltiness.” 

“Junkrat can eat it by the spoonful," Roadhog says, "but I am certain that his taste buds have been burned off.”

“Yeah, probably.” Junkrat looks at the cracker still in his hand, leaning over a little more. “C’mon, don’t be shy. This is a light flavouring, to ease you into it.”

A small panel opens on Wrecking Ball’s chassis, and a little robot claw reaches out. Junkrat tries to get a look inside but it’s too small to see in the short amount of time it’s open. There’s a moment of silence, and Junkrat waits with bated breath for the critique.

“Delicious. Do you have more of this?”

Junkrat barks a laugh. He doesn’t even care that he’s lost the bet, vegemite lovers are good in his books. “You like it!”

Roadhog reaches under his bar, grabbing a jar. “On the house.” 

A hatch on top of the mech opens, and Junkrat expects whoever is inside to pop out and finally reveal themselves, but a platform raises instead. Junkrat places the jar on it, the platform lowers and the hatch closes.

“Thank you," Wrecking Ball says. "If you will excuse me.” 

“Of course, of course,” Junkrat says, waving. “See you around, mate.”

Junkrat waits for Wrecking Ball to leave before turning to Roadhog. He reaches into his pocket, placing the credit chips on the bar. “I’ll admit it, I was wrong.”

“Shocking,” Roadhog says, picking up the chips. 

“Eh, whatever,” Junkrat says, waving Roadhog off. He dips a cracker into the jar of vegemite, indulging in a sizable scoop and shoving it in his mouth. Another person he can share vegemite with considering Roadhog is indifferent about the stuff. “I’ll have to tell them about the flavour combo of toast and vegemite and cheese!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember kids: with Vegemite, less is more.
> 
> And just in case: telly means TV.


	10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Jesse

The kitchen looks like it’s been ransacked. 

A jar of pasta sauce lies on its side, spilling onto the bench. Breadcrumbs crunch underfoot. Amidst the chaos, Jesse moves between two pots on the stovetop and the bench. Standing in front of the chopping board, he picks up the onion and a knife, dicing it. 

Ashe watches from the breakfast bar. She loves watching him do his thing and he's a decent cook, but she’s learned her lesson about interrupting while he is in the ‘zone’. 

Jesse sniffles loudly, tipping the onions into a bowl with ground beef. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he turns his attention back to the pot, using a spaghetti server to pull out a strand. He blows on it, takes a bite, nods as he slurps it up as he turns off the heat. Putting on oven mitts, he carries the pot of water to the sink, tipping out the pasta into a colander before returning it to the pot. 

Ashe enters the kitchen, then, standing beside him as she watches him stir the sauce before heaping two spoonfuls onto the pasta. “Little early for dinner,” Ashe says, standing beside Jesse. 

“There’s more to this than just pasta,” he says, side-eyeing her and smirking. He mixes the pasta, leaving it when it's thoroughly coated and returns to the meat on the bench. He adds a whole host of pre-weighed and measured dry and wet ingredients before mixing it up with his hands. He separates some off, leaving it in that bowl and placing the rest into another bowl lined with foil.

Ashe frowns. “What the hell are you making?” 

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“How is _ that_,” she watches as Jesse lines the bowl with the meat, “spaghetti and meatballs?”

“Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Ashe stares at him, all kinds of confused. But his tongue is poking out of his mouth now and he’s going to get _ weird _ about it if she hangs around anymore. 

So she gives him space, sitting on the couch and losing herself in her book. 

But soon enough, the smell coming out of the kitchen smells all kinds of divine, and it’s not long before she’s back in there, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the cupboard and four glasses, setting them on the table. 

“It’s just us tonight,” Jesse says, leaning against the benchtop. “The rest of ‘em are planning on getting shitfaced.”

Ashe shrugs, placing two glasses back into the cupboard. “More for us, then.”

The timer for the oven goes off, and Jesse hums, putting on oven mitts and pulling out the bowl with what she assumes is the meat wrapped in foil. He gestures her away with a flick of his head, she raises her hands in surrender, grabbing the plates and cutlery on the bench and retreating back to the dining table. 

By the time the table is set and the wine poured into the glasses, Jesse places dinner in the centre, and it sure as shit is a lump of ground beef with sauce on top. There isn’t a strand of spaghetti to be seen.

“Tada,” he says, grating parmesan cheese on top. He then hands her the knife, and she looks between it, dinner, and him as he takes a sip of wine. “Go on,” he says with a sly little smirk. 

“All right,” she breathes, cutting it in half. She separates the pieces, grinning when she sees the spaghetti on the _ inside_. “Spaghetti _ filled _meatball.”

“Yup. Mom used to make it for us...” Jesse smiles wistfully, then takes a hearty gulp of wine. 

He rarely talks about her, so _ this _ must be a big deal for him. The true gravity of this meal settles on her shoulders; little by little he’s opened up to her about his family over the years, but she only knows a scarce few details. 

She wonders if tonight is some kind of anniversary. 

Smiling softly, she doesn’t press on or push him to explain. He’ll talk when he’s ready. 

Slicing it into quarters, she serves them onto each plate, sitting back. She can see Jesse looking at her from the corner of her eye and she digs in, scooping up spaghetti and some of the meatball, and _ shit _ the combination of flavours is amazing. 

“Jesse,” she says, looking at him. “This is delicious.”

Jesse huffs a laugh, smiling warmly. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let Jesse cook 2k19!
> 
> I was originally thinking of going into some crazy, convoluted plan but that was too much effort for 600 words so I just made it small scale instead.
> 
> [Here's the recipe](https://www.scrumdiddlyumptious.com/spaghetti-and-meatball/), if you're keen.


	11. “It’s not always like this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe and Jack

“What the _ fuck _ were you thinking, Gabriel?”

“I did what had to be done,” Gabe replies coolly. He watches as Jack paces up and down the meeting room. The fact that he’s not sitting is a testament to just how stressed he is. “We _ both _ knew this was going to happen, you all but approved it.”

Jack stops, then, pointing a finger at Gabe from across the table. “You lit up Venice! There isn’t a man, woman or child who didn’t hear your god-damn theatrical escape!”

“Antonio had no intention to come back with us willingly. I did what I had to.”

“It could have been handled differently,” Jack says, disappointment drowning his words. “In a way that _ didn’t _ reveal the fact that Overwatch has a black-ops division.”

Gabe shrugs. “It was a calculated risk.”

“A piss poor risk,” Jack murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to know the worst part?” He looks at Gabe wearily; countless hours of lost sleep are evident in the bags under his eyes. Gabe gives a small flick of his head, a means for him to continue. “This doesn’t even surprise me.”

Gabe opens his mouth to respond, to ask what the _ hell _ he means by that, but Jack holds up his hand, stopping him.

“You defy my orders, you leave out important mission details in briefings, you _ lead _ or approve missions that you _ think _ we know nothing about.” 

"It’s not always like this,” Gabe mutters, rolling his eyes.

“No, Gabriel, it _ is_. _ I _ let you get away with it because you’re damn good at your job. Quick, effective, thorough. Until this.” Jack throws his hand at the holo projecting out of the table showing several news reports detailing their _ escape_. “I can’t protect you this time.”

Gabe narrows his eyes. “I don’t _ need _ protecting.”

“‘Don’t need’?” Jack scoffs. “I have Petras breathing down my neck. We’re on damage control. For every spot fire we put out, three more ignite. We’re drowning, Gabriel. We were drowning _ before _ Venice and now we have little hope of recovering.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Gabe spits.

“We have a mole.” Jack stares at him, long and hard, and Gabe stares back. _ That _ isn’t a surprise, honestly, Moira wouldn't be the only one. “Classified mission details are getting out, tarnishing our reputation. I don’t suppose _ you _ have any knowledge of that, do you?”

“None.”

“I want to believe you—”

“Are you questioning my loyalty?” Gabe asks it without thinking. Despite the unsaid accusation feeling like a stab to the heart, his voice is surprisingly calm and even. 

“_But _ you are giving me little to work with. You had a Talon operative, right under your god damn nose!”

“Moira—”

“_You_ hired her _ after _ she was _ fired _ from Overwatch!”

“She has been helping me.”

“_Manipulating _ you. She’s the puppet master, pulling your strings.” Jack sighs heavily. “I don’t know how I can trust you.”

“Jack—”

“Don’t.” Jack stares Gabe down, face glowing as red as a tomato. “The only reason why I’m not kicking you to the curb is because of our history. But I swear to you, _ if _ you try _ anything _ like this again, you’re gone. Are we clear?”

“Jack, please—”

“Are we _ clear?! _”

Gabe narrows his eyes at Jack. He has _ never _ been this angry, and clearly trying to get through to him now isn’t going to work. Later, once he’s cooled off and they can have a _ civil _ discussion. 

“Crystal,” Gabe replies.

And with that, Jack turns on his heel and leaves. As the doors open, he settles on Moira, _ smirking _ as Jack passes her, and he knows his day is only going to get worse from here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said that Snapshots wasn't a requirement to read this, but if you're interested to see where this story goes, I wrote a [Post Retribution arc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219478/chapters/37911809), which picks up from where this story ends. (just ignore the run-on sentences aslfjasd)
> 
> I didn't get a chance to write this conversation last year and I'm actually stoked that I managed to squeeze this in here, even though it wasn't the original plan.


	12. "What if I don't see it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo and Winston

The wreckage smokes and smoulders, the cloud of dust dissipates as the sound of the hovercycle fades in the distance. 

Echo stands alone. According to her GPS, she is just outside Phoenix, Arizona; a far cry from Washington where she _ was _ in storage. 

Looking around, she tries to piece together what happened. The broken train cars indicate she was intercepted in transit. The question is, did Jesse orchestrate this, or did he know of her transfer and ambush?

She sighs. These are questions she is unlikely to get answers to anytime soon. 

A message notification appears on her hud, and she opens it. 

_ Echo. I’m sorry for dropping and running, but I had to leave. I’ve uploaded coordinates to Watchpoint: Gibraltar, you should head there immediately. The building has seen better days and looks abandoned from the outside, but trust it. You’ll know it when you see it. Winston is holed up in research and development—you can trust him, he will take good care of you. I’ll see you soon. JJM. _

“‘You’ll know it when you see it’,” Echo murmurs, looking at the location of the watchpoint on the map. “What if I don’t see it?”

She accesses her data banks, searching for Winston. It brings up several people, both first names and last names, but she knows she’s found him when the picture of a glasses-wearing gorilla appears.

_ Say hi to the monkey for me. _

Hearing faint sirens in the distance, Echo knows her time is up. She activates her teleportation drive, inputs the coordinates for Gibraltar, and in an instant, day turns to night. 

Turning on night vision, she looks around. She’s standing on a cliff’s edge, the sound of the ocean roars below. There is a building, seemingly long abandoned and looking worse for wear, which might make the perfect hiding spot for someone who has restarted Overwatch.

Accessing the map of the watchpoint, she sees she is standing outside research and development. 

“Thanks, Jesse,” she says, heading towards the building. She looks at the control panel for the door, and surprisingly it activates. Inputting her code, it seems to accept it, but the doors don’t open. 

“Welcome, Agent Echo.”

Echo smiles. “Athena. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“As did we. How did you get here?”

“Jesse McCree.”

“_You’re the gift he promised,_” a booming voice says from the intercom. “_Please, come in._”

The doors open, and Echo enters the building. Lights activate overhead, lighting her path until she is standing in a dimly lit room, greeted by Winston. His smile is infectious, and he extends his hand. 

“I’m Winston. Welcome to Overwatch.”

Echo takes his hand, shaking. “It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“We could certainly use someone with your expertise,” Winston says. “I will admit, when Jesse turned down the recall I was disappointed, but he really came through with retrieving you. How did he do it?”

“It involved the destruction of a train. I assume he organised my transfer and intercepted, if he pre-emptively mentioned me as the _ gift_.”

Winston nods. “Smart. We could really use that kind of out of the box thinking.”

“Jesse always had a knack for that,” Echo says, smiling wistfully. The moments before he took off play in her mind; she hopes it’s not too long before she sees him again.

_ Say hi to the monkey for me. _

“Also, Jesse says hi.”


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya

Routine used to be Satya’s everything. 

Her alarm would go off at 7:00 a.m. She would dress, have breakfast, read the news headlines, and leave for work at 8:00 a.m. Her neighbourhood was pristine and perfect, not a single piece of trash to be seen as she walked the promenade to her coffee shop. There, she would order a chai latte to go and take it into work. 

Everything leading up to that moment had been predictable. Usual. But as she sipped her tea at her desk, she knew it would be the last time she went through that routine. 

She had a meeting with Sanjay, scheduled at 9:00 a.m. This time, they discussed the plan to expand their reach into Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam—another country devastated by the Crisis. Her mission was to go in undercover, assess the surrounds, determine if the city's officials will bend to re-development. If not, find dirt on them and  _ make _ them agree.

Of course, she accepted the mission without complaint—she had to, everything leading up to this moment hinged on it. She left the office, then, back home to pack a bag and headed straight to the airport. 

That is where routine diverged. She boarded a plane, it just wasn’t to Vietnam. Spain, she chose instead, to see if there was any merit to this newly reformed Overwatch she caught Sanjay in a fuss about. 

Some digging into Sanjay’s past revealed he is a Talon councilmember. That revelation lead to a series of projects  _ she _ had worked on personally that had benefited Talon—they have eyes all over the globe through their hardlight cities, spying on the public without their knowledge. 

She couldn’t be a part of that. It was a gross violation of morals and ethics. 

As she walks the streets of Madrid, she feels a sense of independence; no one watching her every move, no scheduled meetings or lunch dates or coffee breaks. Just her, alone, with the freedom to do what she wants. 

A first in her life. 

It’s not every day she indulges in her spontaneous side. It is something she keeps in check, following instead the rigidity of routine for comfort. Now, though, there is no routine. She may not  _ have _ a routine for days, weeks, months to come, she just doesn't know. While frightening, there is a level of excitement about it. 

She steps into a store selling summer wear, without thinking about it. She doesn't  _ allow _ herself to think, because she knows she will over examine everything. She just browses, moving from swimsuits to sun hats, picking one up. It’s an obscenely large thing with a wide brim and black hatband, but she puts it on anyway, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

It’s something she wouldn’t have indulged in while working for Vishkar. Getting something so ridiculously large and impractical, she would have had no use for it in her structured life. 

But now, the shackles are gone. She can do  _ whatever _ she wants,  _ whenever _ she wants, and looking at this ridiculous hat, she decides she will purchase it. 

As she steps onto the street wearing it, she feels the giddiness from this impulsive purchase. It’s freeing and dizzying and  _ fantastic _ , and she cannot help but grin. 

“I never knew it could be this way.”


	14. "I can't come back."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Fio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this headcanon.](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie/status/1166594599248437250)

It is utter chaos. 

The six-year-old has given up trying to contain the three-year-old twins who are tackling each other on the couch, sitting down with an almighty huff, arms crossed her chest. 

The twins scream at each other, and Jesse wonders if he should step in, but honestly, he can’t handle kids, not with their grubby hands and their endless string of questions. Fio is off changing the baby, and the simple fact that she handles all of  _ this _ while her wife is at work is a testament to just how strong she is. 

“Okay, enough,” Fio huffs as she steps into the living room. She turns on the TV and there is instant silence. “Sorry about that,” she murmurs, placing the baby in a high chair. He gets to work finishing the half sucked on sandwiches. “Kids. Gotta love ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Jesse says sheepishly. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Just have to pick your battles.” She punches him in the arm lightly. “You look good, Jesse, truly. The full beard suits you.”

“Thanks,” he replies, rubbing his face. “Easier to maintain.”

“I can imagine.” Fio leans back in her seat. “What are you up to these days? Still hunting?”

“Here and there.” Jesse wraps his hands around the mug. “Not much since the message from a certain acquaintance about a recall.”

“Yes! I got it too!” Fio rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe he thinks it’s going to work.”

“Well…”

Fio frowns. “No, Jesse, no, please don’t tell me you’re considering saying yes.”

“Don’t know yet,” Jesse murmurs. “They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

“It’s history repeating.  _ And _ it’s still illegal. If you get caught…” Fio sighs, looking him up and down. “But look who I’m talking to.”

“Yeah, I’m not really known for sticking on the right side of the law,” Jesse says with a chuckle. He meets her eyes. “I suppose you’re out? They could use another amazing pilot.”

Fio shakes her head. “I said goodbye to that life the moment Zürich happened. We knew it was coming, we didn’t say  _ or _ do _anything _to stop it.”

“Don’t think we  _ could  _ have stopped it.”

“No. I don’t want any part of whatever this _new_ Overwatch is.” She looks past Jesse, at her kids sitting on the couch. “I can’t come back,” she says, barely a whisper. 

“Yeah, of course.” Jesse knew what her answer was going to be before he even made the plans to catch up with her, but there was no harm in asking anyway. 

“Jess, please,” Fio pleads, placing a hand on his wrist. “ _ Please _ think hard about joining them. I don’t want to see you locked up or worse, killed.”

“I’ve survived this long.”

“Barely,” she says, eyes flitting to his prosthesis. 

“It adds character,” Jesse replies, winking. He smiles, but she is still deadly serious. That’s what best friends are for, watching each other's backs. “They’re not completely up shit creek, they’ve got Echo now.”

Fio scoffs. “How?”

“Broke her out,” Jesse grins.

“Jesse,” she scolds. She scowls but her smile betrays her. “I suppose, with Echo there, they  _ might _ have a chance.”

“That’s why I took the risk.”

Fio hums, reaching for her mug. “There’s nothing I can say to stop you, is there?”

Huffing a laugh, Jesse shakes his head. He'd made his decision the second Echo was liberated, and he knew that Fio would turn down the offer. He supposes he still needs someone to say no, someone to buck against, to solidify in his mind that he's making the right decision; as childish and as spiteful as that is. 

And even though he was certain about this decision, hashing it out with Fio now has made it concrete. 

“I’m not destined to grow old and retire," Jesse says, sighing. "I wanna go out, guns blazing, and if I can make the world a better place, then even better. Someone’s gotta take Talon on, the rest of the world ain't doing shit.”

“Just  _ promise _ me that you’ll look after yourself,” Fio says softly. “ _ And _ I expect you to drop in for a coffee whenever you’re in the area.”

Jesse affectionately rolls his eyes. “Yes,  _ mom _ .”

That earns him a backhander against his arm and he laughs. It was completely worth it.


	15. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio

The wall of people marches down the streets, cheering, chanting, and singing all the way to Vishkar headquarters. The city is at a standstill, onlookers watch stunned by the commotion, car horns go off, maybe in solidarity, perhaps in hostility.

Whatever the reason, Lúcio ignores it. Noise is noise—chaotic, random, completely and utterly against Vishkar’s core beliefs. 

Every single piece of Vishkar propaganda they pass is torn down or defaced; they are no longer welcome here. 

Lúcio leads the crowd, playing music from his sonic amplifier. It was a stroke of genius, breaking into the building, liberating the very technology his father created—that should rightfully be in _ his _hands—and using it as a weapon against them. 

It had to be done. His people had been lied to, used, manipulated, all for Vishkar’s gain. They imposed ridiculous curfews, banned street festivals, gatherings of more than fifty people, music—_they banned music— _ and the moment they declared it as lawless behaviour, Lúcio _ had _to do something. 

On top of that, after over a year of _ using _ their favela, he realised that their promise of a better community was bitterly empty. He was a fool for ever believing it.

But no more. It started with a small resistance of his friends and neighbours, and it gained traction almost overnight. He united his community, neighbouring favelas that were feeling Vishkar breathing down their necks now stand in solidarity with them, in pursuit of a common goal: flush out Vishkar. 

There isn’t a single person who _ isn’t _ marching alongside him. Children, the elderly, and everyone in-between all moving as one, undivided in this singular cause. 

As they approach the Vishkar building, the crowd behind Lúcio overtakes him. Teenagers, brothers and sisters and siblings, mothers and fathers and parents alike throw rocks at the windows, shattering them and sending glass falling to the ground. 

Lúcio raises the sonic amplifier high in the air and pumps up the volume of the music. The people who aren’t storming the building dance and chant, “_United as one, purge Vishkar scum._”

Windows on each floor burst out, one after the other all the way up to the top floor. Lúcio looks on in awe as more and more people, bystanders join their cause. Some enter the building, the rest cheer with them—city people who barely gave them a second thought mere moments ago. 

He looks at the crowd of thousands, dancing to the beat. Liberated for the first time in over a year, finally embracing their freedom to do _ what _ they want, _ when _ they want, to live life how _ they _ want to live it. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lúcio roars, switching tracks. It’s upbeat and absolutely something Vishkar would consider _ lawless behaviour_, to really drive his point across.

The sound of a helicopter roaring to life rips through the music, and Lúcio sees it taking off from the top of the building. He waves at them as they fly off, the crowd cheers alongside him. 

When the sound of the helicopter fades, Lúcio looks back at his people, raising his fist high in the air—it is done, they’re _ finally _ free from Vishkar’s shackles. 

He knows that if they ever _ try _ to come back, he has the support of his friends to push back harder than today. 


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenyatta and Genji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references a story out of Snapshots if you're [interested in a peruse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219478/chapters/38483810#main). You don't have to read it now, it can be read after if you want. Either/or!
> 
> Also a warning for alluded to suicidal ideation.

Days like today are a struggle.

Genji was making amazing progress. He was broken when he first agreed to join him, but there was a glimmer of hope. While Zenyatta was aware of his history—as far as drunken ramblings go—for weeks he refused to talk about what was troubling him. 

When he  _ did _ open up, though, it was like opening a floodgate. Years of hatred and resentment of his family, his  _ body _ spilt out of him, showing no signs of stopping. 

Genji wandered back into the darkness, and the light was nowhere to be seen, despite Zenyatta’s best efforts. Zenyatta talked him down from the edge, more than once in the months since then, he has stayed by Genji’s side as he battled nightmares, screaming and thrashing in his sleep. 

Opening up about that final mission, dismantling what remained of his former clan was the final hurdle for him to leave Overwatch behind. On one particularly quiet night, he talked about his time in Overwatch, about the guilt of leaving his former comrades. He talked about each of them, telling stories in amazing, vivid detail, and revealed just how much he misses them. 

That was the first time Genji made some progress. He said that, with time, with enough healing, that he will make his way back to them, show them how far he has come. 

Naturally, that led to a discussion about what he  _ is _ now. In Overwatch, he was a living weapon. Sent out on mission after mission kept him focused, he would not be able to perform to the extremes that some assignments called for without his cybernetic enhancements. 

Once he left and had nothing but his own thoughts, that was when he realised that he was a  _ thing _ , a tool to be  _ used _ for Overwatch’s bidding. As he saw people around him stare at him, as couples held hands or kissed in public spaces, he made himself believe that no one would  _ want _ him in any romantic way. 

That led them to today; a lengthy discussion of the night of the fight with his brother. Genji spoke of the betrayal, the look in Hanzo’s eyes with each blow, like Genji was someone from a rival clan, not his own flesh and blood.

Genji isn’t a stranger to nightmares, but it has been months since his last one. Tonight, though, marks the first time Zenyatta can’t wake him out of it. It has yet to reach the extremes from previous nights, but Genji is whimpering softly and quick murmured words slip through. 

_ Please.  _

_ Stop.  _

_ Hurting me. _

_ Hanzo.  _

Zenyatta cradles Genji to his chest. This could become much worse in an instant, without warning, so Zenyatta decides that trying to coax him out of it is the best option. 

“Genji, you must wake up,” Zenyatta murmurs, gently shaking him. He strokes his hair, holds him tighter. “Everything is all right, Genji. This is just a nightmare, it isn’t real. You are safe, nothing can hurt you.”

Suddenly, Genji screams, his eyes shoot open. Panic and terror flash on his face, he looks around frantically as he tries to push away from Zenyatta.

“It’s okay, Genji, listen to my voice. You are okay.”

Genji shakes his head, pushing back stronger.

“Listen—”

“No. I can’t—” Genji stops then, blinking rapidly. He looks up at Zenyatta, frowning. “Zen…”

“Shh.” Zenyatta strokes Genji’s hair. “Listen to my systems.”

“I…" Genji's frown deepens. "What?”

“Listen. No, really listen,” he says, cutting Genji off when he opens his mouth. 

Genji relaxes, resting his ear on Zenyatta’s chest again. After a moment, the smallest of smiles teases his lips. “It sounds like you have a heartbeat.”

“It is where my central processor is located. The cooling required to ensure I don’t overheat gives off a gentle pulsing which sounds like thumping.”

“It’s relaxing.”

Zenyatta looks down at Genji, his eyes are closed again. He won’t ask Genji to talk about the nightmare, Genji will talk when he is ready. 

Right now, the only thing that matters is that Genji knows that he is safe.


	17. “There is just something about them.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Genji
> 
> (with cameos from Jack, Gabe, and Jesse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little minor warning for implied Reaper76

Angela taps her spoon to her lips, her eyes narrow at the peculiar display in the kitchen.

Jack is as stiff as a board—which honestly speaks volumes—as he prepares his morning coffee. He isn’t conversing, he refuses to look at anyone, every single muscle in his body is tense. 

It has to be about Gabe. Again. He, at least, seems to be his normal self, but he was always the better of the two of them at hiding his emotions. He’s chatting with Jesse, leaning on the counter in his usual, unsanitary way, blasé. 

Every time Gabe talks or laughs, though, Jack grows tenser. Soon enough, his shoulders are going to touch his ears and he might just drop dead, right on the kitchen floor, from an aneurysm. 

Jack, now that his coffee is made, hurriedly stalks out of the room. Gabe watches him, almost like a hunter stalking his prey, and Angela can practically see the gears in his mind turning. He pats Jesse on the shoulder and follows Jack, and based on Jesse’s eye roll and flat stare, he too seems to have noticed them. 

With a contemplative hum, Angela turns her attention to her muesli, finishing it off. Normally, their _ affairs _ wouldn’t bother her—it is no one’s business after all—but _ something _ has clearly happened. A fight, most likely, another one in a long line of blow-ups in recent times. 

Again, normally it wouldn’t be anyone’s business, but this… this tense energy, hanging between them like a thundercloud, brewing the perfect storm of lies and deceit until it is so charged all it takes is a misspoken word before it explodes. 

And whatever has happened between them this time, it’s bigger than Venice. Granted, neither of them have been themselves _ since _that ill-fated mission, and whatever fragile trust there was that remained between them was shattered when Jesse was discovered on the ground in Kings Row. 

She glances at Genji sitting opposite, lost in the morning’s news on his tablet. Surely he would have noticed something _ different _ with Gabe recently.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” Genji asks without looking at her. 

“Jack and Gabe.”

“No.” Genji takes a breath and holds it, setting the tablet down and looking at her. “What happened?”

“They had another fight, I think,” Angela says. “Jack was tense, hating every moment in the kitchen, and Gabe was leering at him. Followed him out, too.”

“They’re probably sleeping together again.”

“No, we’ve _ all _ been witness to _ that _ sappy nonsense, and _ this _ was not that.” She looks at the coffee machine, replaying in her mind what she saw. “There is just something about them.”

“Since you mention it,” Genji says, hushed like a secret, “Gabe has been a little off.”

Angela frowns. “How so?”

“He’s secretive. He locks himself in his office, and in the off chance he has the door open, he is on the phone. I don’t know to whom, but it is taking up most of his time and I am sure it is not Overwatch business.”

“Then what?” 

“I don’t know. Jesse has noticed it, too. We all have and we do not know what to make of it.”

Glancing into the kitchen again, she searches for Jesse, but he is gone too. She sighs. “Should we be worried?”

“Honestly?” Genji grimaces. “I think so.”

“That’s…” Anglea sits back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “They wouldn’t _ do _ anything, right?”

“I do not know, but if I were you, I would make plans to transfer somewhere _ away _ from them. They are on a destructive path, between Blackwatch on suspension and the corruption hearings, I do not expect _ this,_” he gestures to the room with a wave of his hand, “to last much longer. Overwatch is a shell of its former self, a dirty word on everyone’s lips.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“But it is the truth.” Genji stands, picking up his tablet. “You will want to speak with Jesse. He has some insight you might find _ interesting._” With a nod, Genji walks away, leaving Angela to stew on those words. 

Tapping her finger on her bicep, she stares into the kitchen. This has her concerned, more than ever. Perhaps it is time to take that sabbatical, flex her combat medic skills and help communities in need of care. It’ll be more rewarding than whatever the hell is happening right now.

With that thought, she stands, placing her bowl in the dishwasher and storms off in search for Jesse.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this stage, I have no immediate plans to follow up on this story.


	18. "Secrets? I love secrets."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra and Baptiste

Sombra loves Friday nights. It’s her chance to let her hair down, truly relax, get a little bit drunk and sleep off the hangover the next day. 

Of course, it is best spent with company, and Baptiste is her go-to these days. He’s a good guy, sweet and kind and funny, cares a lot about the people around him. 

He is also a party animal, he knows how to have a good time.

Tonight, they’ve decided to stay in. Baptiste is fresh off a mission in Singapore, he only got back two hours ago. So she is armed with a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, and has a list of trashy b-grade movies they can sink their teeth into. 

Sombra knocks on his apartment door, and after a moment, he answers. He looks worse for wear; not injured, but more than just tired. “Hey,” she says, smiling warmly. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” he replies with a weary sigh. He steps aside and she walks in, noting the four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. 

“That bad, huh?” Sombra sits on the couch, glancing at him as he plops down on the armchair with a groan, holding his  _ fifth _ beer. 

“Seven.”

Sombra narrows her eyes. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“Civilian casualties.”

“Oh.” She places the tequila and the glasses on the table, moving to sit on the armrest of Baptiste’s chair. “I’m sorry,” she says, cupping his shoulder. 

Baptiste shrugs, taking a long pull of beer. “‘Acceptable risk’, we were told.”

Sombra hums. That is what Talon is now, with the escalating violence and contracts for assassination, civilians are bound to get hurt or killed. She has overheard his squadmates  _ brag _ about it, talk in gory detail about how each and every one met their bloody end. 

She’ll never tell Baptiste, though. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it. 

“It’s all bullshit,” Baptiste says bitterly. “I have become what I hate, what I have spent my entire life trying to  _ avoid _ .” He huffs and looks up at her. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

“Secrets? I love secrets.”

“This  _ has  _ to stay between us.”

“Of course.” 

Baptiste opens his mouth to speak, but hangs there. Taking a deep breath, he meets her eyes. “I’m going to leave.”

Sombra sucks in a breath. “Baptiste…”

“I know, they’ll hunt me down, they won’t stop until they’ve found me, because the only way to leave Talon is in a body bag.” Baptiste closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to, Som. I can’t keep living with this guilt, with this twisted ball of rage in my gut. I just can’t.”

“No, of course,” Sombra says. “I’ll support you, no matter what.”

Baptiste exhales slowly, turns his head away to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, barely a whisper. 

“I’ll see what I can do to help on my end. Destroy any camera feeds with your image on it, send them on a wild goose chase when they inevitably come to me for help. Just let me know when, and I’ll handle it.”

Baptiste huffs a laugh. “You’re a good friend, Som.”

“I know I am,” she says cheekily. Baptiste glances up at her, punching her in the arm lightly. “But you are too.”

“I’ll miss you.”

Sombra nods, pulling him into a hug. Suddenly, it becomes all too real that sometime in the near future she’ll likely never see him face to face again. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too.”


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigitte and Reinhard

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.” 

Reinhardt chuckles warmly, raising his stein in an unspoken toast. Brigitte picks hers up, meekly taking a sip as Reinhardt gulps his down. 

She didn’t believe him when he said that Overwatch was different. How could the still _ illegal _ operation stand on its own, with their past transgressions hanging over their head like a thick fog? 

Sure, she’s heard countless stories of the heroes of the golden days, she wanted to be one of them as a child. But with the corruption, the discovery that this heroic operation had a black ops division that played dirty, _ killed _ people and got away with it for so long because they were above the law, it was enough to forever tarnish the name in her eyes. 

Despite Papa’s anger towards the organisation, Reinhardt _ somehow _ managed to convince Papa to join him. He was _ vehemently _ against the idea, all but gave Winston an earful for initiating the recall in the first place. 

Brigitte isn’t quite sure _ what _ Reinhardt said, but Papa agreed a week later. Perhaps it was a pulse of excitement in an otherwise mundane retirement. Or maybe the thrill of working alongside a lifelong friend again. He didn’t say, but after six months, he is yet to leave.

Three months into Papa’s time here, he said that if she wanted a job, to work alongside Reinhardt like she always wanted as a child, he would put in a glowing endorsement to Winston. 

She initially turned it down; she wanted nothing to do with Overwatch or what it stood for. But she found herself thinking more and more about it. Papa would call twice a week, detailing what he could about missions, how it saw him sent all over the world. 

It made Brigitte a little jealous of it all. 

But she had a life, a job; she couldn’t just leave it all behind on a whim.

One month ago, she decided to drop in for a visit. Her curiosity was reaching critical mass, she needed to see it with her own two eyes before agreeing. 

That was when she realised, that despite her gut saying it was a bad idea, her heart wanted it. She had conversations with members of Overwatch, old and new. She listened to their experiences, their histories, _ why _ they agreed to the recall or chose to join, what it all means to them, and she found herself in awe with each and every one of them. 

The second she was back home, she resigned from her job. In the two weeks she had to tie up loose ends, she formally accepted to join. She was put on immediate probation, which gave her access to declassified mission records to read over. 

She learned that this new Overwatch was noble. They helped those who needed it, they truly believed that it was about time the world had protectors in it again.

Winston has a kind soul, and she knows that he will never _ allow _ Overwatch to become what it _ was_.

A part of her, though, almost believed it to be a lie. She was holding her breath in the days that followed her moving onto the base, expecting the mask to slip off and realise that covert missions were happening, that people were being assassinated ‘for the greater good’, but it wasn’t that at all.

It was just a bunch of friends mostly hanging out, waiting for their opportunity to shine.

And she can say that despite being wrong, she is happy that she is. 

“My dear Brigitte,” Reinhardt says, grinning, “I knew you would come around eventually.”


	20. “You could talk about it, you know?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maximilien and Luna

Maximilien loves Paris. 

Here, he is just a businessman, no different from the other people doing business. No one knows he is the face behind the Casino Monaco. No one knows of his links to Talon. 

He loves the anonymity, the fact that he can blend in and forget his troubles, if only for a few hours. 

His favourite bar to visit has the most wonderful singer for entertainment. He frequents this bar once a week, he is a regular here, and he has befriended her. 

Maximilien sits at the back of the room, listening to Luna sing. She is pitch-perfect, beautiful, and exactly the distraction he needs. Unfortunately, since this was a split-second decision, he missed most of her show. This is her last song for the night, which is too early for his liking but there is nothing he can do about it but enjoy the rest of her set.

This might be the last time he sees her, after all.

He tries to focus on the show, but his mind wanders to business. Sources within Talon suggest that Akande will be paying him a visit tomorrow. It will be their first face to face meeting since his escape. 

His first face to face meeting where Akande will have the power to crush him like an aluminium can for his betrayal.

Maximilien is unsure if Akande actually _ does _ know if it was him who told Overwatch where he was, ultimately leading to his arrest. It is possible that someone could have discovered this and told Akande. There are those, circling like sharks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to join the council, and this would be it. Akande wouldn't hesitate to kill him, leaving his highly sought after position open. Having access to Talon's finances tells a thousand words, and it has been an excellent source of blackmail material. 

Despite his apprehension, Maximilien refuses to flee. These are merely assumptions; there is no actual fact behind them. Fleeing only proves his guilt, and Akande wouldn't stop until Maximilien was dead.

To cover his tracks, Maximilien made sure that he proved he was loyal to Akande while he was in prison. He personally fed him the information he asked for and made sure he was taken care of as best as he could behind bars. 

Akande has shown no inclination to do him harm, but Akande has always kept his cards close to his chest. 

“You’re here outside your usual visiting day.”

Maximilien snaps out of his thoughts, looking up at Luna. Of course, he missed the rest of her show. “I was in the area. For business. I couldn’t help but stop in.”

Humming, Luna sits opposite him. “It is a nice surprise.” She rests her head on her hand. “Though you seem distracted.”

Maximilien nods. “You do not know the half of it.”

“You could talk about it, you know?”

“I would not want to bore you with the details,” Maximilien replies. As much as he would love to discuss it with someone, he cannot show weakness, and he will not put Luna in danger.

Luna reaches out, resting her hand on top of his wrist. “I mean it, as a friend.”

Glancing from her hand to her eyes then back again, Maximilien pulls his arm back, just enough to take her hand in his, bringing up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. “Thank you for your generous offer. Perhaps next week, at our usual time.”

“I look forward to it,” Luna says.

Maximilien gives her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling away as he stands. “Have a lovely evening, Madame Luna.”

“And you, Monsieur Maximilien.”

With a bow of his head, Maximilien leaves. Each step away from Luna is painful, and he hopes that he _has _next week to see her again. 


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira and Gabe

Moira is numb. 

She reads the email from the Strike Commander himself, informing her of the immediate cessation of funding, eviction from Overwatch research and development, and termination of her employment. 

She feels like she is in thick fog—unable to see a clear path ahead of her. She had already been ostracised from the scientific community for her most recent research paper, and now, Overwatch—whom she thought would have had her back—has kicked her to the kerb.

With a growl, she closes the email. _ Overwatch_. What a joke. They held her back, they rejected her grant proposals because they could ‘tarnish this good organisation’. She is better to be free of their shackles. There will be someone out there with the same thirst for knowledge, who won’t be afraid to make leaps in the name of scientific progress. 

She just needs to find them. 

Looking around her lab, she sighs. She is going to need to pack all her equipment and find somewhere to store it all. She could be unemployed for weeks or even months in her search for a new home. 

“Fuck Overwatch,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. She can feel the barest hints of a migraine forming, right at the nape of her neck, and it won’t be too long before she will need to retreat home and rest. 

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you.”

Moira opens her eyes, settling on Commander Reyes standing in the doorway. “My apologies, I—”

“No need to apologise,” he says. “May I come in?”

Nodding, Moira sits up straight, watching as Reyes looks around her lab. “For what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks.

“I heard about what happened,” he says, looking at her workstation. He spins her pipette holder slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Moira says with a sigh, “there is nothing that can be done about it now.”

“What are your next steps?”

“Find someone willing to employ me, who will walk the path of scientific discovery, no matter the cost.”

Reyes hums. “You don’t have someone already lined up?”

“No,” Moira says with a sardonic chuckle. “This was unexpected. I should have been looking for months now, but I suppose I was too focused on my work to see just how restrained I was. Now…” She sighs, looking around her lab. “Now I have to uproot myself.”

“Don’t like change?” Reyes asks, leaning on the bench beside her. 

“Change is annoyingly difficult,” she says flatly. 

“What if I told you that I knew of someone who was eager to take you in?”

Moira looks at Gabe, really studies his eyes for the lie, but he has an amazing poker face. “I’d be sceptical.”

“You wouldn’t have to move very far, either.”

Moira scoffs. “This sounds too good to be true.”

“There is one catch.”

“There it is,” Moira says with a roll of her eyes. “What is it then?”

“We will have to keep your employment a secret.”

It takes a moment for those words to sink in. _ We_. Her eyes snap to meet his. “You..?”

Reyes nods. “I’ve been keeping tabs on your research. You’re destined for great things, Dr. O’Deorain. It’s Overwatch’s loss for letting you go and Blackwatch’s gain.”

Now, this is a curious turn of events. She doesn’t know much about Blackwatch, other than she had to sign a life-long non-disclosure agreement about any and all knowledge she gains about them. Overwatch have kept their existence a secret for years, yet year after year they grow more brazen. 

Blackwatch clearly plays by their own rules, and don't get in any trouble for it. _And_, it seems Reyes is going over the Strike Commander’s head with this decision.

How _ entertaining_.

Moira cannot help the smirk that blooms on her lips. “Are you sure you have truly considered the ramifications of this offer? Your boss only _just_ fired me.”

“You just let me deal with that,” Reyes says. He places a hand on her shoulder. “I won’t hold you back. I won’t be like _ them_.”

She narrows her eyes, catching the hint of disdain in his voice. Could there be a fracture between Reyes and Morrison?

Yes or no, Moira herself could be the driving force, and _ that _ opportunity, to be the one who brings down this organisation from within, payback for this very _ stunt_? Well, that is just too good to pass up.

“All right,” she says, grinning. “Where do I sign?”


	22. “We could have a chance.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastion and Winston.

“Everything is going to be okay. You can trust me.”

>>ANALYSIS: GORILLA. HANDS RAISED. SURRENDER. LANGUAGE: ENGLISH.

>>RISK ASSESSMENT: ARMOURED. WEAPON ON GROUND, RELEASES AN ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE. UNLIKELY TO DO DAMAGE.

>>THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE.

“My name is Winston, I am the leader of Overwatch. We were sent after someone spotted you in these woods.”

>>ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS: TWO DAYS AGO: MALE, AGE 45 YEARS PRESUMABLY ON A HIKE APPROACHED. BACKED AWAY SLOWLY AND PEACEFULLY.

“There was a bit of a panic, given an active Bastion unit was seen.”

>>PROCESSING: GORILLA—WINSTON. SMILE SHOWS FRIENDLINESS. 

>>ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS: OVERWATCH—MILITARY ORGANISATION TASKED WITH HANDLING THE OMNIC CRISIS. PEACEKEEPERS AFTER THE END OF THE CRISIS. DISBANDED 2069. REINSTATED 2088—DATA CORRUPTED.

>>ACCESSING SYSTEMS: TODAY’S DATE: 22-OCTOBER-2090

>>ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS: LAST MEMORY BEFORE DATA CORRUPTION: 04-OCTOBER-2090. SUNSET IN GIBRALTAR, EUROPE. 

>>ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS/ WINSTON: DATA CORRUPTED. 

>>THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE.

“We are teammates. You were officially recruited into Overwatch, stationed at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. There was an attack and we suspect there was damage sustained to your systems. You went missing, we have been trying to find you. Do you remember any of this?”

>>ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS/ WATCHPOINT GIBRALTAR: DECOMMISSIONED BASE. DERELICT. 

_ No. _

“It is of no matter. We will get you out of here, take you back the base. There is an engineer on the shuttle, his name is Torbjörn. He will run diagnostics and figure out what happened to your systems.”

>>QUERY: WINSTON CAN UNDERSTAND.

>>RUN BIOSCAN /WINSTON.

>>RESULTS: HEART RATE HIGH. ELEVATED ADRENALINE. MODERATE PERSPIRATION, MOST LIKELY DUE TO AMBIENT TEMPERATURE OF THIRTY DEGREES CELSIUS. 

>>MEMORY FILE: 28-MARCH-2090: A DISCUSSION WITH WINSTON ABOUT THE GARDEN. HE HAS A PLANT HE WISHES TO ADD TO IT. FRIENDLY. WINSTON IS A FRIEND.

>>ANALYSIS: WINSTON IS CONVEYING TRUTH. THIS IS A RESCUE MISSION.

>>THREAT LEVEL: LOW. DISARM.

“Thank you,” Winston says, sighing. He lowers his arms slowly but keeps his hands in line of sight. “We must get out of here now. There is a search party looking for you containing some unsavoury people, but if we hurry—”

>>HIGH ENERGY PULSE RIFLE FIRE DETECTED SEVENTY METRES AWAY.

>>RUN BIOSCAN.

>>RESULTS: ONE LIFESIGN. RETREATING.

>>ACTION: DISARM.

“We could have a chance,” Winston says, sighing. 

>>RUN BIOSCAN /500 METRE RADIUS

>>RESULTS: TWO LIFESIGNS ONBOARD A CRAFT NORTH-EAST 200 METRES AWAY. ONE LIFESIGN 120 METRES AWAY. FIVE LIFESIGNS SOUTH 438 METRES AWAY.

“If you will follow me.” Winston gestures with his arm, pointing north-east. 

_ I will follow, but not without Ganymede. _

>>ACTION: WHISTLE.

>>VISUAL: GANYMEDE. PERCHED ON SHOULDER. 

>>ACTION: GENTLE BELLY PAT.

Winston smiles. “This way, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried something a little different, I'm not entirely sure I like it. I suppose, with Bastion being an older unit whose mission was most likely 'kill all the humans', his programming would be pretty basic compared to other omnics? I don't know. I wanted to write from Bastion's perspective, it'll probably not happen ever again 😂


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana, Yuna, Dae-hyun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're not up to date with the lore, Yuna is D.Mon.

“First, let me just say, I am happy you’re okay.”

Hana cannot help but roll her eyes as affectionately as she can manage while on morphine. “But?”

The smile drops from Yuna's face, replaced with an angry scowl. “What the _ hell _ were you thinking, Hana?! Going up against five gwishin _ alone_? Do you _ have _a death wish?”

“You don’t understand, Yuna—”

“I do!” Yuna raises her arm, wrapped in a cast. It was a compound fracture, required surgery and a titanium plate to set it. Along with the broken arm, she had a severe concussion and had to go into an induced coma. The doctors were actually worried that she wouldn’t make it. “I understand fully. It doesn’t mean _you_ should have been reckless and gone in alone!”

“I had Dae—”

Yuna glares at Dae-hyun, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “You should have talked her out of it!”

Dae-hyun raises his hands in surrender. “I tried.”

“He did,” Hana says, glancing from Dae-hyun to Yuna. “I had to do it. What’s one life against thousands?”

“They wouldn’t have made it that far in. The city has defences—”

“_We’re _ the defences!” Hana stares Yuna down, and she finally doesn’t retort. She takes this opportunity to focus on her breathing, taking deep breaths to calm down. “We’re the frontline defences. We wouldn’t be out there, doing what we do if the city was able to defend itself. So don’t you _ dare _ tell me that my life is more important than theirs. Just—don’t.”

Yuna sighs, taking Hana’s hand gently. “You can’t give more than yourself,” she murmurs. It takes Hana by surprise, the fragility in her voice is something she’s never heard before, and it all but breaks her heart. “What _ if _ you had been unable to stop them? Then the MEKA squad would be down one member. We work as a _ team_.”

“You’d just replace me,” Hana mumbles. She looks at the blanket over her lap, tugging at a loose strand. They’d replace her immediately. There is a whole line of people _ waiting _ for the opportunity and it would be seamless. _ If _ she hadn’t made it out, at least she would have died a hero, saving the city. “I had to try, Yuna. I couldn’t let them down.”

“I know,” Yuna says softly. “If I had been in your position, I would have probably done the same thing.” 

Hana huffs a laugh, glancing up at her. “And you give _ me _ shit for doing it.”

“_I_wouldn't have destroyed my MEKA,” Yuna says confidently. 

“It was _ me _ or the MEKA, I’ll have you know.” 

Yuna hums, smiling softly. She pulls her hand away, sitting back in the seat and turning her attention to Dae-hyun. “Is it true that she _ asked _ for help?”

“Yep,” Dae-hyun says with a little chuckle. “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of her mouth.”

“I wish I’d been there. I would have recorded it.”

Hana rolls her eyes when Yuna looks at her. They might be shit-talking, but these are her friends, her teammates. She did it for _ them_, and she would do it again, hell, she'd even take on _ more _ gwishin alone without thought, without hesitation, if it meant that they would be safe. 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Yuna says, drawing Hana out of her thoughts. “I care about you—_ we _ care about you.” She glances at Dae-hyun. “We don’t want to see you hurt, or worse.”

“I know,” Hana whispers. She looks at Yuna, at Dae-hyun, offering an apologetic smile. “I can’t promise that I won’t do it again.”

“Hana,” Yuna says, smiling wide, “I honestly wouldn’t expect any less of you.”


	24. “Patience… is something I’m not known for.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baptiste and Mauga

A woman comforts her baby, bouncing her in her arms when she cries. Tears stream down the woman's face, she shushes the baby, pressing her lips to the baby's head when she cries.

"I fucking hate children."

Baptiste doesn't reply. Beside the woman is an older man, in his eighties probably. His arm is draped over her shoulders. Her father, Baptiste guesses. 

The restaurant is full of people just as distressed. People who were going about their day, enjoying a meal, before their lives were rudely interrupted by _ them_.

"They're loud. They require constant attention. They shit their diapers."

"They're babies. They don't know any better," Baptiste mutters. It was a mistake, said on impulse, and he regrets it completely and totally when a heavy hand settles on his shoulder.

“Aww, ‘Tiste, I didn’t see you as the kid type,” Mauga says, all kinds of sickly sweet. “Would have figured, with a childhood as twisted as yours, you’d be against kids.”

Baptiste inhales and exhales deeply, taking a step away from Mauga. Kids have never been on his agenda in life for that very reason, but he’s not going to openly admit it. It’ll just prove Mauga’s point and then he’ll never hear the end of it. 

“Silent treatment, huh?” Mauga chuckles. “All right, I’ve struck a nerve, I’ll drop it.” 

Amazing. Mauga _ can _ let something go. 

Then, suddenly, an ear-splitting _ crack _fills the silence. Baptiste jumps so high he might have just touched the ceiling, and when he turns to Mauga, he sees his fist on the counter which is now technically in two pieces. 

“What the _ hell _ is taking you so long?!” Mauga bellows.

The people in the restaurant gasp and sob quietly. When Baptiste makes eye contact with them, they duck their heads, afraid.

“It’s okay,” Mauga says, chuckling lightly in a futile attempt to calm everyone. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”

A silent rage burns within Baptiste. He hates this with every fibre of his being. The fear, intimidation, _ death _ is starting to take its toll. This isn’t what he signed up for.

He thinks about every mission leading up to this, how the violence is increasing, how he is drinking himself to sleep more often than not, how he tells himself on the bad days that it will get better when it hasn’t.

When did it get this bad?

“Here, sorry, sorry,” the owner says, rushing towards them. He drops a bag of cash and the food Mauga had ordered on the battered counter.

“Aww, it’s fine, Hubert,” Mauga says. “You delivered, that’s all that matters.”

“T-This is everything,” Hubert says, whisper-quiet.

“Excellent!” Mauga opens the bag, eyeing the money. He reaches in, pulling out three rolls of credit chips. “For the damage,” he says handing them over.

With a shaky hand, Hubert takes them. “Thank you, you are very generous.” 

“I’m a generous guy.” Mauga picks up the food, winking at Hubert. “See you around.” He walks out of the restaurant, and Baptiste nods his head, following behind quickly so these people can relax.

Mauga waits outside for Baptiste, and he walks in step with him. “Smile, ‘Tiste, it won’t kill you,” he says, nudging his elbow into Baptiste. “This is easy money. A business deal, even. We offer them protection from the threat of war, they pay us for it.”

Just like before, Baptiste doesn’t reply. Every single part of him _ despises _ this. There is no _ threat of war _ here, not anymore. They are just preying on the fear of these people. 

He needs an out. He needs to think of a way to get out of Talon that isn’t in a body bag.

He can’t do this, not one moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place one mission before Baptiste confesses to Sombra that he needs to get out.


	25. “I could really eat something.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena and Emily.

It is a shit day. 

They’re calling it the storm of the decade. Strong winds, heavy rain, thunderstorms, the works. Every other house has sustained some form of damage, the streets are littered with tree branches and debris.

Lena would give anything right now to be in bed, toasty warm under the covers, with a cup of tea and a good book. Instead, she spent the day at work, earning peanuts which she is _ knows _ isn’t worth it, putting up with grumpy customers and making their coffees with the fakest smile on her lips. 

And now, she is stuck out in the rain, under the shelter of a bus stop which is doing bugger all to actually keep her dry considering the rain is coming in sideways. She’s wet, chilled to the bone, and hates every single moment of this. Her umbrella can only do so much, and if she raises it any higher it’ll get blown away. 

Only twenty more minutes of this hellish commute, and she’ll be back in her apartment. 

Closing her eyes, she imagines the sweet relief of a hot shower, the heater cranked up to maximum. It is a mistake, though, because all it does is remind her just how cold she actually is. 

With a sigh, she looks down the street, left then right. There’s the usual peak hour traffic, but no bus. She checks the timetable on her phone, and it should be here by now. 

“Great,” Lena mutters, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. “Just _ great_.”

After a few minutes, the rain stops. Lena closes her umbrella, rests it against the wall of the shelter, and stuffs her hands into her pockets, trying to warm them up. She’s sure her fingers numb despite having gloves on. 

“Rubbish day, hey?”

Lena smiles, settling on Emily beside her. She catches Emily every now and then, usually when Lena’s missed her usual bus. They converse about everything, it happens so naturally. Lena's discovered that they actually have a few things in common, like their love of Christmas, or despite the shit weather, Winter is their favourite season, only because of heavy blankets and heaters and oversized sweaters. 

And Lena would never admit it, but she has a little crush on Emily. From her red hair always worn down, begging to be tucked behind her ear, to the freckles on her nose that Lena wants to kiss, she is simply _ adorable_. 

Lena is sure that Emily is seeing someone, despite never mentioning a significant other. She’s gorgeous, there’d be _ someone _ in her life. 

Pushing that depressing thought aside, Lena nods. “It sure is. I know I said I can’t stand balmy weather, but I’m telling you, a bit of sunshine and warmth would do wonders right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Emily groans. “How long have you been waiting here, then?” She looks Lena up and down, playful smirk teasing her lips. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Too long,” Lena replies, smoothing a hand over her wet hair. She regrets not grabbing her beanie on her way out this morning. “Bus is running late, it should have been here at least five minutes ago.”

Emily hums. “And I thought my day was bad.”

“Oh, please do tell me about your day, I need to know that mine isn’t worse—Oh! Here comes the bus!”

“Finally,” Emily says, raising her hand to call the bus. “Looks a bit full, though.”

Lena nods, seeing people standing beside the driver. “Hopefully they can squeeze us—”

That is as far as Lena gets, when the bus not only passes them at speed, but the grav pods hit a puddle, splashing them with dirty rainwater. Lena looks down at herself, then at Emily, who copped it so bad, it looks like she just stepped out of a shower with her clothes on. 

The moment Emily makes eye contact with her, she bursts into laughter. It’s infectious, Lena can’t help but join her. 

“Well, I’m sure we’ve just placed equal first for worst day now,” Emily says with a sigh. She pulls her hair over her shoulder and wrings it out, water drips onto the ground. 

Lena looks on, absolutely smitten. Even soaked as she is, Emily's makeup is still on point, her smile alone is enough to warm Lena's heart. She’s simply beautiful, and Lena _ needs _ to tell her.

“Do you wanna get dinner?” Lena asks. “I could really eat something.”

“Like this?!” Emily looks down at herself. 

“We can taxi back to mine, order in. You’re free to use the amenities, of course. I wouldn’t expect you to sit on my couch soaking wet.”

“I don’t exactly _ have _ dry clothes on me.”

“You could borrow some of mine,” Lena says. The words come out of her mouth before she’s even thought of them, and as the statement hangs in the air, Lena scolds herself as embarrassment takes hold. 

But despite the fact that Lena’s foot is firmly in her mouth, Emily smiles, wide and brimming, and Lena is sure her heart flutters. 

“Well then, Lena,” Emily says, stepping closer. She’s so close, Lena could count her freckles if she wanted to. “I’d love to join you for dinner.” 


	26. “You keep me warm.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orisa and Efi

“Orisa!”

Efi bursts through the door, leaping up to wrap her arms around Orisa’s neck. Orisa catches her in her arm, holding her tight.

“I missed you,” Efi whispers. “You have to tell me about your adventure!”

Orisa sets Efi down, holding out her hand, and Efi takes it. “Come with me, I have something to show you.” She leads Efi through her workshop and out the back, where Orisa’s room is. She doesn’t _ need _ a space to call her own, but being absent from it for so long made her realise just how much she missed it. 

Sitting down on her bed, Orisa opens the side compartment, pulling out the autographed picture. “I met Lúcio.”

Efi squeals, taking it from her hands. “Orisa! What was he like? Was he nice? What’s his favourite food?!”

“Lúcio is the happiest person I have met. He is always smiling, he makes sure the needs of his team are met before he takes care of himself. He was partial to Numbanian Jollof rice.”

“That’s so cool,” Efi says, nestling against Orisa. “I wish I was able to go with you.”

“You have school,” Orisa replies. “It is more important than providing security for diplomats far and wide.”

“But still.” Efi sighs, looking back at the photo in her hand. “Maybe one day.”

“Lúcio is eager to meet you. He would have, but they were called away on another mission.”

“_They? _” Efi looks up at Orisa with wide eyes. “Who else did you meet?”

“They were... a peculiar bunch of people.”

Efi smiles. “How peculiar?”

“There was Winston, the gorilla. Jesse, an American cowboy. Dr. Ziegler, an angel. Hanzo, who uses a bow and arrow. Lena, who can manipulate time. And of course, Lúcio, who utilises the power of music.”

“Not that I don’t believe you,” Efi says, looking up at her and smiling wide, “but aside from Lúcio, it sounds like you made them up.”

“I would never lie to you, Efi,” Orisa replies. “Winston is eager to meet you if you are ever in Gibraltar.”

“He knows who I am?”

“They all do. They are impressed with what you have achieved.”

Efi smiles broadly. “I would like to meet them, one day.”

“They would like that.”

Efi looks down at the photo in her hands, her fingers hover over her name. “Did anything interesting happen?”

“It was just discussion,” Orisa replies. She tells Efi what she can, about the jokes and stories they told. 

While she is programmed to not lie, she is programmed for protection first and foremost, and there were aspects of the mission that she does not want to worry Efi about. Overwatch wasn’t in Numbani to provide security, but rather they were leading crisis talk about the potential threat of attack from Doomfist and Talon. It was a credible enough threat that a handful of Overwatch has remained undercover in the city, but not enough to warrant alerting the public. 

Telling Efi would jeopardise the lives of the team, and that of Efi. 

As Orisa finishes detailing her five days away, twilight settles over Numbani, and with it, a chill in the air. “You should go inside and rest,” Orisa says softly.

“But I want to stay here with you,” Efi mumbles. She must be close to falling asleep.

“It is not comfortable out here, and it will only get colder.”

Efi looks up at her, smiling. “You keep me warm.”

There is no way Orisa can deny that face. She nods, pulling a blanket over Efi and wrapping her arm around her comfortingly. Her mother will come here soon looking for her and take her to bed, but until then, Orisa will enjoy this time with her.

As much as she enjoyed her five days away, Orisa missed this, most of all. 


	27. “Can you wait for me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Vincent

It is so hot, Jack could cook an egg right on the pavement. 

It’s not unexpected. Bloomington is in the midst of a heatwave unlike any seen before. A string of 100°F days in a row is all but unheard of, but this year, it has struck hard. Early, too, it is only May and already Jack is waiting for the sweet relief of winter.

It makes working the farm damn near impossible. After ten minutes he regretted every life choice leading up to that moment. After twenty, he was sweating so much he was sure there was no actual fluid left inside him. After thirty, he had to retreat inside and have a cold shower, just to make sure he didn't end up with heatstroke.

At the very least, he has done everything he needed to do. Now, though, he has the rest of the day to himself, and he plans on hanging out at the ice cream shop. It’s partly for how cold it is in there, but mostly for Vincent. 

Jack has a little spring in his step at the very thought of seeing Vincent out of school hours. They are friends, but Jack wants it to be much more than that. He _ knows _ that there is something more, he’s seen Vincent look at him from across the room, they both find excuses to be in each other’s company, and just yesterday, they held hands, longer than necessary at football practice when he helped Vincent back up when he was tackled to the ground. 

The cool air hits Jack in the face when he opens the door to the ice cream shop, and it is a welcome reprieve. He smiles when he settles on Vincent working behind the counter, Vincent matches it with one of his own, that Jack can only describe as dazzling. 

Almost immediately, Vincent gets to work, picking up a waffle cone, filling it with three perfectly round scoops of choc-mint ice cream, and topping it with chocolate chips.

“Your usual,” Vincent says, holding out the ice cream. 

“Thanks,” Jack replies sheepishly. The fact that Vincent knows his favourite flavour makes his stomach flutter. He takes the ice cream, handing over the credit chip. “It’s unbearably hot out there.”

“I know, we’ve been flat out all day.”

Eyebrow raised, Jack looks around the empty shop. “I can see,” he teases.

Vincent rolls his eyes playfully. “It’s a lull. A welcome lull. I’m practically run off my feet.”

“How much longer do you have?”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Vincent exhales loudly. “Another twenty minutes, then I’m free.”

Jack hums, glancing over his shoulder when the doors open, a family walks in and they all sigh in relief. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Can you wait for me?”

It was said quickly, with a little hint of desperation in his voice and based on the look of shock on his face, it was completely unexpected, even for him. 

Jack cannot help but smile. “I don’t know,” he says playfully, “twenty minutes is a _ long _ time.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Oh?”

Vincent calls him over with a flick of his hand, and Jack leans over the counter, only for Vincent to grab his shirt and pull him in for a quick peck on the lips. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Vincent smirks, smoothing down Jack’s shirt. “So you’ll wait?”

“Yep. Absolutely.”


	28. “Enough! I heard enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo

“Congratulations on your appointment as clan leader, Hanzo.”

Hanzo merely hums, standing in the threshold to his father’s den. It is strange, looking in and not seeing him sitting at his desk, looking out the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Somehow, it makes the room even more imposing than it did when he was here. 

His father is now gone, and this den will now become Hanzo’s. He steps inside, heading for the desk. He runs his fingers against the wood, a cross-section of an ancient oak tree which fell during a storm two decades ago, to the chair tucked under it. 

When Hanzo was a child, he would dream about sitting at this desk, in that plush leather chair. With its high back, it looked like a throne, but now, as he pulls it out and gets a good look at it, it is merely an old, worn chair. 

“You will be an excellent leader. The best this clan has ever seen.”

Hanzo sits down, hands trailing down the armrests. It is not as comfortable as he remembers. The padding is worn, the backrest is far from ergonomic. With each moment that passes, Hanzo feels like he shouldn’t be here. This is his father’s desk, his den. Shimada Sojiro should still be head of the clan, he should be sitting here at this very moment and Hanzo should be observing from the other side of the table.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Hanzo buries those thoughts. He has worked his entire life for this moment; countless hours spent studying and training and appeasing his father, the elders, to prove that he is fit to run this clan. 

“It is natural to be nervous.”

“I am not nervous,” Hanzo replies, eyes settling on the stacks of paper on the desk. 

His father was partial to paper and ink, choosing to handwrite almost all of his work instead of inputting it into a computer. He loved calligraphy pens and inkwells, but Hanzo never understood their appeal; it is messy, time-consuming, and a waste of money. 

He picks up the sheet on top, and can barely read the words on the page; his father always had atrocious handwriting. From the few words he can decipher, these are notes from a recent meeting. The next three sheets appear to be from the same meeting, and Hanzo puts them aside to scan, in case they have not yet been digitised. 

“Your brother should be helping you clean up.”

The sheet after is a sketch, and Hanzo cannot help but smile. His father would draw whenever he was in a call he had no interest in, and this one is of the castle. It is a beautiful rendering despite the fact that it was drawn with his pens. 

“Where is Genji?”

“I do not know,” Hanzo mutters. He continues looking through the stack of papers, sorting what to keep and what to throw away. 

“Probably between someone’s legs.”

“And?”

“We must remain strong in this trying time. He cannot be seen galavanting the city, drunk, high, with people hanging off his arms.” 

Hanzo frowns, settling on the empty glass. Picking it up, Hanzo turns it in the light; it is dirty, there is a smudged fingerprint on it, and the alcohol that was in it is long evaporated. It has to be merely days old. This was probably the last drink his father ever had.

The suddenness of his death hits Hanzo like a truck. His father didn’t know he was going to die—he didn’t make arrangements for Hanzo to take over, he didn’t give any parting words. He was alive one moment, dead the next. 

“Genji is damaging to the clan. What will people think, seeing the _prince_ disrespect us so? He should be here, by your side. It is his duty as a Shimada—”

“Enough! I heard enough.” Hanzo scowls at his uncle. His mother’s brother arranged the marriage between her and his father just so he could have influence in the clan. There isn’t a single drop of Shimada blood in his veins yet he is a _pest_ that will not go away. “Genji is processing this in his own way and I will not force him to do anything he does not want to.”

His uncle levels him with a matching scowl, but Hanzo does not back down. “You are the leader now. His actions will destroy this great clan. He must be dealt with, sooner rather than later.”

_Dealt with_. Like he is a piece of trash, a problem, a nuisance. How dare he speak about Genji like this. 

“Get out.”

“Perhaps you are not the leader we thought you were after all.” His uncle stalks out of the room.

Looking at the glass in his hand, Hanzo holds it tight. If he had the strength, he would shatter it in his hand and he would not care. Setting it down before he gives in and smashes it against the wall instead, those words echo in his mind.

Hanzo did not work tirelessly to have them doubt his abilities. Whether he likes it or not, Genji will be a test of his leadership. 

A test Hanzo has to make sure he passes.


	29. "I'm doing this for you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana

Lying in her hospital bed, Ana looks at the photo of Fareeha in her hand. 

It’s old, taken when Fareeha was a child of ten years. She is holding a cornflower, plucked from someone's garden on their way to the park, and she stares at it like it is the most amazing thing she has ever seen.

The only personal effects Ana has to her name is her uniform, which told her that she was Overwatch despite having no memory of it, and this photo. When it was shown to her all those months ago, the girl meant nothing to her. She could have been some random child for all she knew. But the fact that she had this photo and no identification meant that this girl meant _ a lot _ to her.

As Ana’s memory started to return, the girl became familiar. Short snippets would play in her mind, but Ana didn’t know if the little girl was a family friend, a niece, a daughter or granddaughter. She would look at the picture for hours every day, trying to shake loose a memory of her, but every day came nothing. 

It took a nightmare, losing this little girl, to remember who she was. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten her own _ daughter_. 

Ana remembered everything about her; holding Fareeha in her arms for the first time. Walking her to school. Teaching her self defence. All of the time spent away from her because of Overwatch, essentially missing her entire teenage years. The fights that came after, _ ordering _her to stay away from Overwatch, and the months of silence that followed. 

Protecting Fareeha from the harsh realities of this world was so important to Ana back then, and now, it means absolutely nothing. All of that missed time she could have had, and now it's gone. 

It has been six months since the incident. It has been a week since she remembered Fareeha. Right now, Ana sits at a crossroads—Fareeha thinks she’s dead. The _ world _ thinks she’s dead. She could keep it that way, let the memory of Ana Amari, the hero of Overwatch, live on. Or she could reach out, let everyone know that she _ survived _ the Widowmaker.

But what consequences would follow? Widowmaker is known for her _ kills_, her death count is something to be rivalled. _ If _ Ana were to reveal that she is, in fact, alive, she knows that Widowmaker _ and _ Talon would stop at nothing to make her death permanent. 

What would that mean for Fareeha?

Fareeha can look after herself. Ana knows that much, she made sure of it. But they would use Fareeha against her. They’re dirty like that, using bystanders for their gain, not showing a single shred of remorse when innocent blood ends up on their hands. 

No, Ana cannot put Fareeha’s life in danger. The world is better off thinking Ana Amari is dead. 

Ana looks at the photo in her hand, and she knows what she needs to do. She can’t be found with it on her, this physical connection between her and Fareeha can’t be known. 

Picking up her lighter from the table, she walks up to the sink in the bathroom. Holding the photo, she opens the lighter and ignites it. With one final look at Fareeha, committing her to memory, she holds it up to the flame. The fire takes hold and she places it in the sink. 

As the photo starts to blacken, Ana has to look away. She holds onto the sink tight as she chokes back a sob, as her heart bleeds.

But she remains strong; she cannot show weakness. She must not _ have _ a weakness. 

Settling on the picture once more, she watches as Fareeha’s sweet smiling face is engulfed in flames.

“I’m doing this for you.”


	30. "I'm with you, you know that."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha, Jesse and Sam.

Fareeha hates this, with every single fibre of her being.

Overwatch called off the search; Ana Amari is now presumed dead. Six months of searching has come up with absolutely nothing. 

The start of the search was promising. They found Ana’s rifle at the scene and a trail of blood on the floor leading outside. Jesse _ begged _ Reyes to let him look for her and he did, checking every hospital and morgue in the country, but there was no trace of her. Absolutely none. 

There has been no contact from her since, nor has there been any proof of her demise. Talon was there the day she went missing, and if they had her, they would make it very well known. 

Ana gave her_ life _ to Overwatch, and _ this _ is how they repay her service. They were apologetic but Fareeha could see the lies behind their polite smiles; they don’t want to waste any more resources chasing a ghost.

This _ funeral _ is Overwatch’s official send-off for Ana. Top brass, Fareeha's childhood heroes, offered tearless condolences. They’re just going through the motions at this point. Another death, another funeral. Desensitised to it all. 

Jesse sighs deeply from beside her, watching as the crowd starts to thin. “They’re already returning to their lives like nothing even happened,” he says bitterly. “It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Ree.”

“I know,” Fareeha murmurs. She’s argued with everyone she could, screamed at them, cried herself to sleep when they told her, time and time again, that the search is over. 

Well, they can stop all they want. She is going to continue, and she won’t let it go until she brings Ana home. 

“I’m going to resign.”

“Ree, no.” Jesse turns to face her. “You can’t. Ana wouldn’t want you to give up your career for her.”

“She is my _ mother_, Jesse. I know we didn’t have the best relationship but I didn’t get to say goodbye—” She slaps a hand over her mouth as her whole body heaves, and she swallows down her sob. 

Jesse slides in closer, he drapes his arm over her shoulders. He doesn’t say anything and she is grateful, focusing on fighting the urge to break down. She has cried for several lifetimes already, she is done.

The couch dips beside her, and she glances over, seeing her father. Taking a deep breath, she rubs her face and sits back up, placing a hand on his knee. 

“How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” her father replies. He leans forward, looking at Jesse and smiling. “Mind if I have a moment?”

Jesse nods, standing up. “Can I get you anything, Ree? Sam?”

“Coffee, please,” Fareeha replies. 

Her father shakes his head, keeping his eyes on Jesse as he heads to the refreshment table. “How are _ you _ doing?”

“I’m…” Fareeha looks at him, sighing. “I’m tired. I’m sick of the excuses and lies. I want to keep looking, and I know it’ll be pointless, _and_ mom won’t want me to, but I can’t let her go.” Her eyes well with tears and she fights them back too. “I can’t.”

Her father nods, taking her hand. “No one will expect you to let go. She _ is _ your mother.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.” He smiles softly. “I’m with you, you know that.”

“Thanks,” Fareeha whispers, placing her hand on top. “I… I might take some time off, gather my thoughts. If you don’t mind company…”

Her father smiles, pulling her in for a hug. “Of course not.”

Fareeha closes her eyes when he kisses the top of her head. She already lost one parent while not on speaking terms, she absolutely won’t let it happen again. 


	31. "Scared, me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siebren and Harold Winston
> 
> (with a cameo from Subject Twenty-Eight)

Siebren loves the Horizon Lunar Colony. 

It’s an amazing long-term experiment, not only testing the primate’s intellectual potential, but also long-term susceptibility to artificial gravity. Sibren will admit that this kind of research is not his cup of tea, but visiting from time to time, checking in on the team’s progress is fascinating.

This is, of course, just a pitstop. A final check-in with ground control before Sibren conducts his own experiment on the International Space Station. After years of calculations and simulations, tomorrow morning, he will attempt to harness the power of a black hole. 

Siebren cannot help but smile—this is his life’s work, and finally, he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The airlock pressurises with a final hiss and the hatch opens. Siebren steps through the threshold, settling on Dr. Winston waiting for him on the other side. 

“Siebren.” He smiles warmly, offering his hand. “A pleasure as always.”

“Harold.” Siebren shakes his hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Harold extends his arm, and Siebren walks in step with him. “How was your flight?”

“Great, not as tedious as the last time. And how is your research going?”

“Amazingly, if I'm being honest." Harold pauses as they round a corner. "Specimen twenty-eight is showing great promise. His vocabulary is up at one hundred words now, his intelligence is something to be rivalled.”

“That’s exciting.” 

“It is.” Harold stops in front of a door, inputting a code into the keypad and it opens. It is an observation room, Siebren looks through the window, a gorilla sits at the table, reading a book aloud. It is impressive English for some_one _ who had learned it. 

“Amazing,” Siebren says, listening to the story. Another researcher sits with the gorilla, phonetically sounding out words he gets stuck on. “He will make great strides in his life.”

“He will, he is fascinated by science and engineering. He tinkers with things, pulls them apart to see how they work.”

“And the rest of your subjects?”

“They are making progress, but not at the same level as twenty-eight. Though…” Harold smiles. “Specimen eight is surprising us all.”

“Oh?”

“We weren’t expecting much from the hamsters, but eight is simply remarkable.”

“Where is he? I’d like to observe him.”

Harold chuckles lightly. “He’s uh… currently roaming the facility. And we can’t find him. He’ll show up eventually though.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “He always does.”

“Sounds like a handful.” 

“He’s not too bad.” Harold opens the door back into the corridor and Sibren follows him out. “So, tell me about your big experiment.”

“We hypothesise that the gravitic energy released by a black hole can be utilised as an energy source. Tomorrow, I will attempt to harness that power.”

“Sounds promising, if not a little terrifying.”

“_Exciting_. If successful, it would rewrite the history books.”

“You’re not scared?” Harold smiles. “Black holes are incredible forces of nature, as you know.”

Siebren chuckles, pressing a hand to his chest. Harold's concern is somewhat charming. “Scared, me?” He shakes his head. “Never.”

“Always fearless.” Harold steps into the mess hall, plucking two mugs from the cupboard. “Well, if there is anyone out there who’ll prove the hypothesis, it’s you.”

"That's the plan," Siebren says, positively beaming. One more night, and he'll have done it. His life's work will have come to fruition. "That's the plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that!!
> 
> I want to thank you for following me on this journey. Your comments and kudos filled me with absolute joy. 
> 
> I have to say though, that I'm looking forward to a break in writing come tomorrow 😅

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) Come say hi!


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